Winner
by Teufelszeug
Summary: This is one day in life of Gallo, a ghoul, a cannibal  and an evil man. Rated M for dark themes and general gloom. Charon cameo appearance. Unfinished.


**Author's note:**

_**Special Thanks**_ _goes to Kimmae_ _and AliBlack, who kindly helped me with proofreading and fixing the text._

_**Double Special**_ _Thanks to Kimmae, for great patience and a lot of constructive criticism!_

_I do not own the Fallout universe and its inhabitants. The main character, Gallo,_ _is a hostile party hat-wearing ghoul found inside the Country Sewer Mainline near Super Duper Mart. Because he is immediately hostile, the player has no opportunity to chit chat with him, so I made his character from scratch. A, and by the way, Charon made a cameo appearance here. _

_The story below is kinda weird and may be inappropriate for some readers. This is the first fic - I wrote this shot for exercise purposes mostly, before large work. English is not my native language, so there could be problems with style. The story is yet to be finished, please be patient. Originally it should've been one piece, but because I'm struggling to finish it, I was necessary to broke it in two, second part is coming soon. R&R, please._

* * *

Every Wednesday Gallo used to do sweeping and dusting. The air shaft on the ceiling allowed dirt particles to enter his hideout freely. Sometimes, especially after dust storms, a thick gray layer covered his entire house already a day or two after sweeping; Gallo never complained. He simply took rags, brushes, Abraxo, and repeated Wednesday's ritual, whenever it was necessary. In fact, he was glad he had an excuse to clean the Nuka Cola bottles and the small TV he so liked to watch, to pick up cute toy trucks, to run over shelves and surfaces again and again. His modest collection aroused pleasant half-forgotten memories from better days, and he whistled joyfully while working.

This day was no exception. A storm raged for several days above the shelter, so Gallo decided to repeat his weekly housework a little earlier than usual. A warm sense of satisfaction filled him as he examined the results of his labor. Discipline is what shapes winners and separates them from the loser's horde. Self discipline, patience, and thorough preparation, indeed. Takes you several years to learn, if you are the bad-tempered type, but the results are worth it.

"I think some small reward wouldda bin in order." Gallo checked the contents of his safe, as he did sometimes when he was pleased with himself. "Let's fetch some candy." The safe returned the sound of his voice with a slight metallic echo as he carefully observed the stash. Almost empty. First, Gallo picked the last dose of psycho, and frowned involuntarily. Once he grew accustomed for not counting the numbers, thanks to that bastard Ahz. Well, if the weather is good, and the neighbors don't mind much, he'll crawl out for some shopping eventually, maybe even today. No reason to rush; a joy deferred to the right moment will be ten times more sweet. He'd better wait until he restocks. Gallo put the chem away and took a shiny bottle. Slight, almost unnoticeable warmth emitted from the glowing blue liquid and caressed his palm as he lifted the bottle and twiddled it 'round in a dim daylight. Beside him TV made several noisy lisps and suddenly sounded clear:

"Well, Trish, I wanna thank you for playing. You lost, but you where a good sport. I will see ya later, thank you very much, Trish." A bit applause followed. "Now, let's see...oh, sorry, I'm getting too exited...let's see what Jimmy gets from our beloved Nuka Cola for winning the race! First prize – to the studio!"

The TV still murmured while Gallo closed the safe, piked up his short-barrel and exited the room, carefully locking the door behind him. Of course he grabbed a bat too, just in case neighbors decided to be over-friendly today.

* * *

_"Fuckin' cheater! Screw me raw with a sledge, I swear I saw this cock-suckin' brat messin' with a deck!" _

_"Oh, Forty, ma' man, ain't ya without a catch-up on this one? You should keep a close eye on him, he's a clever bastard." Jones was all smiles, as usual. "And Lucky is his second name, you know. But this time the deck is mine so I don't think he could tamper with it."_

_"Well, he may be lucky enough to make me change my name today. But you, Jones, then you're next! If it's not his work, then it's yours!" raved Forty._

_"Calm down, Forty, he didn't cheat today, or I would've noticed. Huh, Lucky? Am I right? You play straight today? Forty, you should see his face! Probably gives those honest eyes to every broad in Big Town." Jones let slip a giggle._

_"Fuck, why'd I agree to play with you brats in the first place? Wins black-jack, wins caravan, poker, everything! Tampers with a deck, that's what he does, sure as yer Momma was a cunt. Fuck you, Jones, and fuck your brat, I swear: he wins again and I'll be Forty-One then!" Forty rose with an intimidating look on him, as if he wanted to start a fist fight with younger one Jones and his teenage friend, but changed his mind and stormed to other campfire, mumbling "fuckin' milk-suckers" on his way._

_"C'mon, Forty, I _**really** _did nothing," Lucky Jimmy, the youngest brat in Paradise Falls, genuinely laughed at the older man's back without even a drop of fear. He must have feel lucky today, indeed. "Let's do another one. I'm sure this time it's your turn. Hell, I'm even giving ya half the winnings back, just one another game? Please? Forty? What, afraid to lose again to a milk-sucker? Fucking grown-ups..."_

_Forty didn't dignify the kid with a response, save for a few curses. Instead, there was a sudden laugh from the other group, a female laugh. It spread around in the darkness, like the sweet sound of sparkling Nuka Cola. _

_"Good you didn't call him 'mungo', kid." another cackling laughter joined the first. Two female voices echoed each other, interrupted by giggles; he couldn't hear what they were saying. A female figure parted from the "grown-ups" campfire and slowly approached Jimmy and his friend. The girl was tall, with an unladylike mohawk and stains of dirt on her grinning face, and looked only slightly buzzed._ _Barely older than him, Jimmy thought. Probably new blood, joined when he was absent with his trip in Big Town._

_"Hello there, ma' dear." Jones felt obliged to greet the girl with one of his sliest smiles. "What can Eulogy do for you today?" _

_"What can you do? Maybe you can _introduce _me to the kid? Jim? That's his name, isn't it?" The girl sat down by the campfire; closer to Jones than to him, Jimmy noted. For some reason Jimmy felt a little prick of something...is it jealousy?_ _This was his day, he came with booty, the best booty of all like always, but the girl seemed to prefer the smooth-talking Eulogy. Probably just because he is few years older, thought Jimmy._Well, I'll show the bitch who's the kid and who's the man here_,_ _he promised to himself. _Later.

_"Name?" Jones pulled an expression of false surprise."Well, I think Forty has a few nicknames for him, but none of them are very polite." The girl burst out with drunken laughter, together with grinning Jones._

_"Well, but you're an infamous Jimmy the Lucky, aren't you?" she turned to him. "I wanna play. Wanna play with the Lucky." she chuckled._

_"What's your poison, ma'dear?" Jimmy asks, trying to imitate Jones's accent as close and as sarcastically as possible._

_"Hmm, poker maybe? I'm pretty good at it. Have a nice share of goods here, don't ya? Robbed poor old Forty blind."_

_"Okay, gal, but your caps ain't good around here. Had enough of this stuff already. How about strip poker?"_

_"Oh, the pup is showing his teeth," the girl laughed so hard she almost fell on top of Jones. "Eulogy, are you playing?"_

_"I'm dealing. The brat surely prefers to see _**your **_sweet frame than my sorry hide, so I'll save him the trouble."_

_"I 'eard you sold your girlfriend to enter Paradise. Is it true?" the girl asked him suddenly. Jimmy said nothing, so she continued. "My name's Trish, by the way."_

_"Oh, dear, he does it steady every week. I'm surprised there are still gals in nearby villages, he's so good with his job. But who are we to make assumptions? It's a harsh world out there, and you do what you must to make it. Try not to be his next, Trish."_

_"I just wait for refugees near Lamplight, or go to Big Town. They always buy it, for some reason. Others tried it, too, but somehow always ended up shot." Jimmy said evenly while checking his cards. Damn. "I change three."_

_Jimmy wasn't concentrated on the game. He kept checking out the girl's silhouette, and quietly admired the way she moved, brushed a forelock out of her eyesight,_ _laughed at Jones's jokes. Maybe that's why he kept loosing time after time. Meanwhile, Eulogy happily told the story of how Lucky had came to Paradise, less than a year ago, sixteen year-old boy straight and fresh from Little Lamplight. He came to the Paradise Falls gate, holding hands with a girl around his age, and bluntly told Ymir he wanted to sell her. The girl never saw it coming - she screamed and tried to pull away, but the boy's grip was iron. Of course Ymir wanted to put collars on them both, but Harmon said no._

_"He said, the boy could be his lucky charm." Jones explained, shuffling and dealing, "or maybe it's simply because Black Widow found another sort of charm in him. Everybody knows who's wearing the pants here, if you know what I mean. Anyway, since then we've called him Lucky, and believe me, he is."_

_Jimmy didn't mind the stories, or the rumors. He believed them to be a byproduct of jealousy for his natural charm, the one that works equally on slavers and on their potential prey. How many times did he blow the minds of unsuspecting teenagers from Big Town telling them he's for hire to escort the willing to Rivet city or Megaton? How many times did he lure kids from Lamplight, ones he remembered growing up near him? How many times did he escape imminent death when fellow slavers planned to dispose of too-lucky-to-keep-alive kid, just so they can keep his share to themselves? His charm and his luck aroused jealousy, that's true, but they also got him out of sticky situations again and again. This particular rumor about Black Widow could cost him his life of course, that's if Harmon Jurley decides to take it seriously. But he still believed things like this simply could not happen to him. Besides, he always brought the best catch._

_"What else you heard?" Jimmy nonchalantly asked Trish."I pass."_

_"Do you have some sort of, you know, special lucky item or something?"_

_"You bet he has!" stated Jones, shuffling cards."Your humble admirer Eulogy almost drunk it no later than yesterday!"_

_"Your humble bastard admirer Eulogy better keeps his hands off my backpack next time, if he wants _**both** _hands intact so he can deal a deck." Jimmy said almost blandly, turning towards Eulogy with evil grin. "I would hate to see something happen to them." He didn't glance over at Trish, but somehow he knows she appreciated the comment. _The bitch likes 'em uppity_, he thought, smiling himself. _

_"Oh, so it's true then - you take that Quantum bottle with you everywhere? Oh, by the way, looks like you ain't as lucky as they say, you wasted all your gain and I'm still fully clothed. Your lucky charm is not working, apparently." she giggled and swayed on the place. How did she get so drunk without him noticing?_

_"Last hand."_

_"Well, since your charm ain't lucky anymore, I think you should bet it. Your Lucky Quantum, against...what would you like?" Trish gave him coy, dirty smile, and he looked straight into her face, only to meet his own tiny reflection in her dilated pupils – a beardless, smooth-faced teenager with long curled hair and coffee-with-milk colored skin. He accepted the challenge._

_"My Lucky Quantum against the kiss of this gorgeous lady. Now deal."_

* * *

First, Gallo went to the storage room and checked fission batteries inside the generator. One battery leaked; it emitted a familiar warmth, same as the Quantum bottle, only this time the sensation was stronger and a little ticklish. Gallo frowned. He was somewhat disappointed, yet pleased with his ability to sense the leak. _Radiation: you can't smell it and you can't taste it until a damn battery leaks _- he muttered while counting the batteries on shelves, when a sudden yelp interrupted his thoughts. Then another yelp came, accompanied by a gunshot and an angry, rasped shriek, then frequent thumps, then silence.

Gallo nervously waited a minute, rubbed his cheek, then carefully peeked out of the storage. The rail trap was secured in it's place, of course, and so were the bear-traps. A bunch of grenades also hung from the ceiling as usual; his hungry neighbors had already rushed to the far corner, where a rusty ladder led up to the factory. He had heard a single gunshot, and it sounded like it came from some kind of small firearm. Not from the terrifying shotgun, which once forcibly acquainted its shoulder stock with his cheekbone. And the voice was female. Still, maybe the shotgun owner silently creeps in the shadows right now, bypassing all of Gallo's traps? That one could be very sneaky sometimes. Only when loud chaw of his neighbors reached the cell, Gallo decided he was brave enough to venture out. Hell, even if the big one came for his hide, he'd meet him with his short-barrel, _and then we'll see who laughs last, _he encouraged himself.

Nothing moved through the musty hallway. The passage was completely empty; no creepers with shotguns snuck up on him, nor hungry ferals. As he paced slowly to the ladder, the chewing sounds became more and more pronounced. A few guttural growls and hisses punctuated the chewing. When Gallo cautiously turned around the corner, he saw near a dozen feral ghouls gathered around the ladder, crawling so close to each other he could not distinguish the floor from behind their spines. He chased the pack away with a mere two shots before he approached the unfortunate prey they feasted upon. One body was a female in leather armor, probably a mercenary. Her right hand clenched around her ripped throat; the ankle was nearly severed by the bear trap, blood still poured out of the stump. The second body was a rather large feral with a shot wound instead of a face. Both bodies had teeth marks on them.

"Oh, Joshua, you're such a bastard_" _Gallo said to the ghoul's corpse as he rummaged through the dead girl's backpack. _"_Once in a while a gal comes to visit and this is how you greet her? I thought you're a smart one." Gallo could hear the feral pack hanging around, hissing from a safe distance; they still were too hungry to leave their prey. "If I knew better I woulda shot you myself. Now look at you: you're lunch."

Gallo shimmied over and scooped the girl's body into his arms. Just like earlier, he was pleased and disappointed at the same time. He had no need to go hunting now, there would be enough food for several days, and not some old sinewy leftover of the wastes, but a prime, succulent piece. Yet he was somewhat querulous about Joshua's death – it was his favorite hound, both vicious and smart. It took some hard time to teach ferals to avoid his traps and not to bother him; now the pack will choose another alpha, and Gallo will have to train them once again. Out of spite he decided to leave Joshua there - let the pack clean their mess. He dropped the girl's body near his shelter, and went to make sure there was enough room in the fridge.

* * *

_He writhed on the floor, desperately gasping for a gulp of air. The shit hit the fan with such speed he never even had an opportunity to become scared. First there was a steely grasp of large hands pulling him off a whore, then air was knocked out of his chest by a right hook to his solar plexus. He bent over from the pain, clutching his abdomen involuntarily; his assailant saw this position as handy, and landed a heavy blow on his face with the butt of his shotgun. The squared floor suddenly become closer and turned to a wall. Then his sight faded out, leaving him in a spinning darkness, pained, unable to breathe._

That's it_, thought Gallo. _Now he'll just beat me to death, or will shoot me if I'm still lucky. _A dull ache in his temple was almost unbearable, but the asphyxiation was much worse. Dark red pulsed in his eyes, turned into a gray fog and then thickened again. The same fog plugged his ears, but he still could distinguish the sounds of the whore whimpering from a distance. Strangely enough, he still felt no fear, probably because Psycho was raging in_ _his blood. From this angle the world looked different, everything was way larger, as if he became small again, turned to a child. Like it was a dream. He had no idea how lying on the floor and seeing the world spinning around him could be soothing, but it was. _If he doesn't kill me, I'll do it again one day, _- Gallo promised himself._

_His attacker did not shoot him, nor landed the shotgun's stock on him again. Neither did he try to help the weeping whore. He simply stood above them, motionless, as if he turned to another fossil, like the mammoth and dinosaur bones in the lobby. Fog still covered Gallo's eyes but he knew that the man's face would be completely expressionless, without anger or pity, only a calm expectation in his eyes. He waited for his master to come, because he was sent here on purpose._

_His hearing cleared slightly, and Gallo distinguished several raspy voices:_

_"...so, you know... I've seen...wrong with him and just sent my boy to check..."_

_"...happened before?"_

_"...not if...tell...bought Psycho, I don't know where, and...told him before not to..."_

_"...you think...feral?"_

_"_**Quiet!**_" one voice suddenly banished others. "I do not have all day, so could somebody just tell me what happened here?"_

_"He..he hit me." the whore sounded with a broken voice. "I think he tried...he tried..." She started to cry again. Her whimpering made Gallo's headache even worse._

_"Somebody take the girl out of here. Take her to the Chop Shop, Graves will give her something to calm down. Charon, you were there, is it true what Ahzrukhal and this girl say?"_

_"Yes." Gallo's attacker answered calmly. "He has been rude and violent today, insulted some of our clients, and Ahzrukhal asked me to escort him out. After a while he asked me to go and check if he was making any trouble, and so I did. He did not notice that I followed him. I saw him talking with a girl, then he hit her several times and tried to pull her clothes off. I had no choice but to intervene."_

_The girl's cries muffed; a hoarse female voice tried to reassure her: "It's okay, everything's okay." Probably Nurse Graves. He, on the other hand, still wheezed on the floor, and nobody offered him a helping hand. His breath almost returned to normal, but he was not sure he could even sit up._

_"Was he high today in the bar?"_

_"I cannot tell." answered Charon, his face impassive as usual. Everybody probably took it as an "I don't know", but Gallo knew precisely what it truly meant:_ "_I'm not allowed to tell". _Bastard has his ways to tell the truth and yet to fulfill unspoken orders_, Gallo noted._

_"He is high; I can see it from here." Barrows continued in his questioning. "Who sold him Psycho? You?" He turned angrily to Ahzrukhal._

_"Oh, Doctor, you know how I care about well-being of my clientele," Ahzrukhal stated quietly. "Everybody knows what Psycho does to ghouls; I would not be ignorant enough to take such a risk. Maybe this... woman knows more abo..."_

_"I didn't sell to him I swear!" the whore suddenly exclaimed through her muffed cries. "I brought some chems, yea, but they were for me, I... I can't work without them! Some of my customers are jetting with me, but that's all!" She started to sob again._

_"Somebody _**take her out of here already!** _And get out; I'll take care of him myself." Barrows glanced angrily to a gazing crowd. Gallo was surprised they obeyed the doctor. He expected to be at least arrested, but they turned away as if he wasn't there on the floor. Ahzrukhal gave a short nod to his employee, and they simply walked away. Nobody even looked at him, except Barrows._

_"C'mon, kid, let's see if you can stand up." the doctor turned to him when the last onlooker disappeared behind double doors of the Museum._

_"Listen, kid," Barrows said later as he injected Gallo with stimpacks. "you better leave the Museum tonight, 'cause tomorrow they'll come after you. Someone will probably scream for blood, and Ahz will be the loudest. Did he ask ya to shoo this whore away?" the doc gave him a sharp stare, but Gallo said nothing. _Barrows already had figured it out_, he thought._

_"Wait for me outside, at the lobby," Doc told him as he tried to limp his way out of the Chop Shop."I'll bring your stuff. And please," Gallo heard genuine sorrow in Barrows voice, "please, cut that shit out, or you'll end up feral faster than anyone will notice."_

* * *

He emptied the fridge of old meat; all leftovers were thrown to his pet roaches. Then he took old nylon coatings and covered the floor, so he would not soil the room. When everything was ready, Gallo brought the dead girl, laid her down on the coverings and started to undress the corpse before butchering. The body was still warm and Gallo decided to cook several cuts immediately.

Dim daylight played tricks on him: for a brief moment the girl resembled Trish. He even stopped his work and observed her again, just to make sure. But no, the girl was definitely not Trish, they didn't even look alike, and this girl was obviously much younger. Suddenly Gallo grew more disheartened: if not for Joshua and the other ferals, this girl would be very much alive when he approached the ladder. It would open certain...possibilities. Maybe he should dispose of the feral pack after all.

"You know what?" he rambled quietly to his pets while packing carved remains into the fridge_. _"That one, that I'm cooking right now. Reminds me of somebody. I useda have a girlfriend once, looked just like her. Tasted just as sweet too" He chuckled. Where would Trish be right now? Probably dead meat, just like this one. Serves her right for dumping him in the middle of a bog to die. His imagination obediently pictured a girl with Trish's face strapped to his narrow bed, terrified, begging him not to touch her...

"Well, well...this is certainly one step further, don't you think?" a high pitched voice chimed beside him. "First becoming a zombie, then imagining fucking a long dead woman, what will be next? Don't you regret that you started cooking too soon?"

"You're supposed to stay silent," Gallo turned to the speaker. "At least I think you shouldn't be able to speak with your head chopped off. Wait, better to say with your **body** chopped off, hehe."

The last thing that was left on the blood stained plastic covers was the girl's head. Right now it squinted up at him and repeatedly licked it's bloody lips.

"You know, it seems to me you should be grateful your remains are already packed and in the fridge, roadkill. Seeing the vigor you have right now, you actually could be quite useful as a whole. And something tells me you wouldn't like it." He lifted the head by its hair, so it was at eye level. "Fortunately, I know better than to fuck dead meat. I only eat it. But anyways, you don't need your meat anymore, right, carrion?"

"Oh, but would you kindly refrain from telling me I shouldn't **die** on you here? Not as if it would matter to you, in your state." The head paused and tried to reach the tip of its nose with the tongue. "You know what date it is today?"

"Why should I care?" Drops of blood fell from the head's severed neck; Gallo looked around in search for a plate, or something to put the head on. Normally he would toss it to the ferals, but it seemed to be entertaining enough right now, so he decided to keep it for a while. At lest for as long as it speaks.

"Oh, so you don't know what date it is today? How about your name?"

"That's simple, carrion. Funny you'd ask. Does it matter what the name of a guy who eats ya is? Oh, and if you say "Oh" like that another time I'll burn ya in the oven, roast ya with skin and hair, and then throw ya to ferals, just like this." Gallo left the head on the bar and started to fold the plastics on the floor. "Remind me to wash the wraps later, would ya?"

The head glanced on him from above, then repeated:

"What is your name?"

"Gallo."

"What day is today?"

"Saturday."

"How do you know?"

"I cleaned two days ago, but there was a storm so I cleaned again today. I usually clean on Wednesdays."

"What date is it today?"

"Why the hell are you asking me so many questions?" Gallo started to get pissed. He wasn't able to remember what date it was, and it made him nervous. Just a little bit.

"What are you doing here?" the head refused to back off.

"I'm fucking living here, that's what!" Gallo shouted.

"What is your name?" the head asked for the third time. That was more than enough. Gallo slapped the head so hard it rolled to a far corner, near the door.

"Gallo! I already told ya, you cock-sucking cunt!"

The floor was now splattered with thick blood.

"See what you make me to do, bitch? Now I need to mop again! Another mop for one day! I'll make you lick all this mud from the floor now! What? Swallowed your tongue, you dumb bitch?"

Gallo lifted the head from the floor. It looked puzzled.

"Wow, it hurts." said the head. Surprisingly, Gallo put the head back on the plate, instead of tossing it into the oven. His anger dissolved somehow, and now he felt only weariness. He took a rag and a bucket and proceeded to wipe the floor.

"Do I have any bruises?" the head asked him gently.

"No." Gallo didn't even look.

"Listen, I'm sorry for pissing you off. I really am."

"That's okay." Gallo still didn't look.

"Check the oven, I think your food is almost ready."

"Thanks." _If this isn't some strange broad. Reminds me to check if her own thigh is ready..._

"Don't forget to wash the wraps."

"I won't."

"Mind if I tell you something?" the head asked him after he finished his meal. "Today is shopping day. You wanted to go shopping, didn't you? So it's about time. Check the Mart. Oh, and would you mind putting me in the fridge when you go, please?"

"Okay."

Gallo locked the doors and ventured out for the second time.

* * *

_Jim sat on a rock with his double-barrel on his lap, and smoked. He looked down on a half-hidden pathway between the hills. He had waited for almost a week now._

_Four weeks ago they decided to raid that new village...He already visited it once, disguised as a traveling merchant. Those people looked weary, as if they went a long way. They built no walls or other special defenses. First mistake - last mistake._

_Twenty five days ago Jim discovered that the villagers were not as simple as he thought. Likely, he grew to be too relaxed, and gave them some reason to be suspicious when he checked the village earlier. He tried to figure out what his error was, in vain. The villagers had greeted his small party with heavy gunfire._

_Twenty four days ago Jim regained consciousness. The world was consistent of pain, nausea, fog and dumpiness around him. He laid in a puddle of mud, nearly black with his blood. There was an endless bog around him, as far as he could see. Some meters away, right in front of him there was an old truck. Barrels were thrown around it like pebbles. Once those barrels bled some green gooey stuff on the ground, he still could distinguish spots of thickened gunk around them. To the left he saw a torn apart body - it was probably Luke. Trish was nowhere to be seen._

_Somebody had gone through his backpack; he knew it the moment he was steady enough to move a hand. No stims. No rad-aways. No ammo. Shit. He checked his belt pouches. One stimpack. Just one._

_Twenty three days ago Jim returned to his senses again._ _A day before he managed to crawl onto a relatively dry spot after injecting himself with a stim. Now he had to make his way back to Luke's body. Somebody looted it too, but hastily. _Fuck you, Trish_, thought Jim. He found another stim, smokes, some insta-mash and a bottle of vodka. Better than nothing. He drank some as an anti-rad measure, then carefully poured vodka onto his wounds. The sting from the alcohol made him black out again._

_Twenty days ago Jim finally crawled out of the bog. Trish took all the ammo, but left his double-barrel behind; he managed to use it as an improvised crutch. He was too nauseous to eat, so hunger was not an issue, only the pain; he treated it with vodka. He didn't know in which direction he moved; his only objective to put as much distance between himself and the barrels as humanly possible. He had no idea how many rads he'd took in by the last few days. In fact, he was surprised he was still moving. By his count, he had received enough rads to rot near those damn barrels._

_What really saved his life was the whole field of xander plants he found. It was a true miracle, it was like God himself took a shine upon him. It happened when his fractured leg started to turn from blue to black. He sat to rest, pulled his somehow spared Quantum from a backpack and wondered if this is a time to drink it. He decided to drink it before he kicks the bucket, and it was right about time, wasn't it? Instead of being cold, as it always was, the bottle was unusually heated. Blue light emitted from the drink, and suddenly Jim noticed near a dozen tiny xanders all around. They could __not have grown that far East, he knew, but here they were. He spent all night chewing the bitter roots._

_So far so good. His radiation sickness was much milder than it should have been, though. He was still feverish and nauseous, but was finally able to eat. He had to be thankful, but instead he became cautious about it. His suspicions doubled when his leg returned to a normal color. His suspicions tripled when the wounds started to heal at an alarming rate. Nights were cold; Jim shivered and delved into his backpack for the Quantum. It stayed warm for some reason. His face itched._

_A week ago Jim finally reached Paradise Falls. He observed the camp from far away, but decided against entering. If Trish was there now, it would be hard to confront her. Let the bitch think he's dead. Instead he would wait for her on the small passage they usually used; other slavers knew nothing about it. She probably returned two weeks prior and went on another raid. Jim would meet her on her way back. And so he waited._

_Trish appeared near midnight. She slowly walked the passage, dust thick on her leather armor. She was headed for Paradise, but she was alone. Even from this distance Jim could see three slave collars attached to her belt, two of them appeared to be locked shut, one was open. _Dumb bitch can't even keep two slaves alive on her way back_, he thought. Once again luck shone upon him: Trish went to a small den where they used to rest sometimes, when they wanted privacy. She appeared to be tired, and fell asleep pretty fast. He made all the necessary preparations and sat beside her, savoring the moment. No reason to ruin a good surprise._

_Trish awakened with the first rays of the sun. She blinked in confusion, then pulled a sheepish smile._

_"Jimmy? Jimmy, you're alive!"_

_Her awed happiness was so genuine, Jim almost felt guilty for what he'd done. Almost._

_"Jim, how did you make it? Man, I was sure as hell you were torn to pieces by that mine." She sat awkwardly, still not understanding. "Hey, what are those spots on your face?"_

_She rubbed her neck absentmindedly, and her fingers stumbled upon a collar. Sudden realization struck her; her eyes widened in fear._

_"W-what's that?"_ _she whispered, clenching to the collar. Jim enjoyed so much to hear panic in her voice. "What's that for, Jimmy?"_

_He yanked her close to him by her hair, and searched for his reflection in her eyes, as he liked to do. There it was - an exhausted young man, with a dirty beard and sunken cheeks, and crazy feverish eyes. He flung the girl to the ground._

_"Get up, bitch, let's move. I don't need to explain about the collar t'ya, do I?"_


End file.
